Pitching In

An exchange of emails and a phone call led to our visit to the county's mounted police headquarters in search of free manure.

This was our second attempt; we had tried the local agricultural college who teach Equine Studies.  They recommended a firm at Lytham selling it for a pound a bag, but as former allotmenteers we still have the mindset: could we source this for free?  It was gratis, as much as we could take we were told but in this case we will make a suitable donation to the Lancashire Air Ambulance, whose yellow helicopter we frequently see overhead on its way back to base.

So off we drove to a very quiet, tidy site with one horse padding in circles on what looked like an enclosed exercise carousel, and another leaning his head out to look at us. 

The manure was in a big concrete enclosure, a tidy heap, some straw, but enough of the good stuff for us to fill eight old compost bags.  It was strong and recent, the real raw thing.  We brushed up after ourselves, changed out of our wellies and left happily.

Now our compost is back home arranged on our rear patio area, breaking down slowly and waiting to be mixed with leaves and kitchen waste.  The whole process from fresh to well-rotted will probably take a year.  Some things do not change.